


Risk Assessment

by TheSoleSlutvivor (ChangelingDreams)



Series: Nuka Cola AfterDark [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Animal Abuse, Aphrodisiacs, Bodily Fluids, Come Eating, Drugged Sex, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Light Sadism, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Sweat, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29312355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangelingDreams/pseuds/TheSoleSlutvivor
Summary: Gage has identified three major issues when it comes to his relationship with the Overboss.Or: Three times Gage thinks he knows where he stands, and Fury pulls the ground from underneath his feet.
Relationships: Porter Gage/Female Nuka-World Overboss
Series: Nuka Cola AfterDark [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095059
Comments: 17
Kudos: 18





	1. Uranium Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, this part turned into a weirdly introspective triptych with an overarching theme in which Gage relates some of his deepest fears and anxieties to key points in his relationship with the Overboss.
> 
> Which would make me feel all clever and real-writer-ey if it didn't just sort of... happen.
> 
> As always, mind the tags.

Gage doesn't think he's particularly prone to fretting. It's just that the wheels in his head are always quietly turning away, observing and assessing and planning. It's nothing he's even actively aware of, most of the time. Just a steady whirr in the back of his mind. A subroutine that runs of its own accord until it pings a note of interest, or an idea, or a warning bell, and all those background processes get brought to the front. 

His relationship with Fury sets off all kinds of warning bells in his head.

He never should have let it get to this point, of course. Never should have agreed to the arrangement. Never should have let it grow beyond an arrangement into this…  _ thing  _ between them that neither of them is able or willing to acknowledge. The reason why he has, why he's abandoned all common sense and flung himself face-first into this mess is pretty simple, when it comes down to it. It's the first and foremost problem he has when it comes to Fury, the issue where all others stem from. 

He can't fucking resist her. 

When all this first started, he'd figured the biggest risk they were running would be messing up their working relationship. That she'd end up feeling challenged by the reversal of power, or would resent him for it when the high of the thrill wore off. It's why he went along with her little play of dominance a while back, even though that  _ hadn _ ' _ t  _ been part of the arrangement. He could understand the drive behind it, figures it was something she needed to reassure herself their relative positions hadn't changed. 

When his worry on that front proved to be unwarranted, he'd pinpointed jealousy as the largest pitfall to avoid. Not on her end, because why would he fuck anyone else when he gets to act out his filthiest fantasies with the woman of his wettest dreams? 

And not on his, either, despite the fact that he knows full well that he's a territorial bastard. Fury has been upfront from the start about not trusting anyone else enough to let them fuck her, and she's shown no signs of changing her mind ever since. She actually seems actively hostile towards the idea. But he isn't the only one who's been harbouring carnal thoughts for the Overboss since she arrived at Nuka-World, and he wouldn't be the first rival stabbed or shot over a desirable partner. 

Thankfully, the fact that Fury hasn't become any more approachable or any less terrifying still continues to keep any other potential suitors at bay. And as an unintended but not unwelcome side effect of the whole situation, Gage seems to have won some measure of grudging respect for bedding Nuka-World's resident mantis queen without getting his head ripped off and eaten. 

So far. 

What he hadn't counted on was the Overboss turning out to be an insatiable  _ menace. _

It's not like she jumps his bones at every opportunity. She doesn't even initiate sex herself, outside of a few memorable occasions. But she seems to know exactly how to make him want to jump hers, and she wields that knowledge like a homicidal surgeon wields a scalpel; with both deadly precision and malicious glee. She doesn't even have to work at seducing him in the first place; he'd be bending her over the nearest surface most nights already even without her riling him up. But apparently she's pretty set on making sure of it. If he's lucky, she limits her wiles to knowing glances, subtle innuendo, playful brushes against him when there's no real reason for her to be close enough to touch. When she's in a more wicked mood, she'll go bra-less under a white top so thin it might as well be see-through, her dark nipples clearly visible underneath the fabric. Or she'll go out of her way to display herself to him in other ways - deliberately bending and arching her body, ostentatiously licking condensation off the neck of a bottle, or any other number of ways that get his blood drumming through his veins. It's not so bad when they're out in the Commonwealth or clearing out one of the Parks, and he can have his way with her whenever the coast is clear (and on a few memorable occasions, when it isn't). But when they're home in Nuka-Town, he's forced to let her taunt him under the guise of innocence during the day, until they retire to the Hideout for the night and he can finally unleash his built-up frustration on her. 

It's not that he hates her teasing him - not exactly - but the effortless ease with which she wakes his lust and gets under his skin is more than a little disconcerting. And as much as he hates to admit it - he's having a hard time keeping up with her. He's not a young man anymore. While his age doesn't affect his enthusiasm for pounding his little succubus into the mattress, he can't deny that she leaves him feeling wrung dry more often than he'd like. He's not complaining, because he'd have to be a complete fucking idiot to complain about a gorgeous spitfire wanting him to dick her down  _ too often,  _ but he wouldn't mind if the novelty of his dick started to wear off some for her. Or if she'd become a little less enticing to him with frequent exposure. 

But it hasn't, and she hasn't, and it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets himself disappoint her even if he  _ could  _ resist her, which is why he made the mistake of turning to Fever. 

It's not like he hadn't used it before. As drugs go, it's a pretty innocent substance, compared to chems like Psycho or Fury's namesake. It's popular in Nuka-World, with the Pack and the Disciples in particular

And even though the Operators hold up the pretense of disdain at the glowy blue substance, Gage knows they indulge in it just as often as the rest does. Feverblossom is easy to come by, growing all over the place, and the extract named after it isn't difficult to make. Mixed with Nuka-Cola to mask the bitter taste, it serves as a decent alternative for alcohol; all the lowered inhibition without the loss of coordination or blackouts, and no hangover to boot. It even warms you up just like liquor does. Its main draw, though, is that it makes a pretty potent aphrodisiac. One drop to a bottle is enough to keep a dick hard or a pussy wet for a good five hours. Its main drawback is that it makes you sweat like you have a fever - hence the name. And, much like alcohol, it has a tendency to remove any filter between brain and mouth. 

Gage could try to tell himself it was the Fever that nearly had him fuck everything up the other night, but he knows he only has himself to blame, really. He just can't stop  _ wanting more.  _ That's the root of all self-inflicted evil, right there. And in a stroke of pure irony, he was so wrapped up in stopping himself from wanting too much that when Fury actually told him she wanted him as well, he thought she was being disingenuous. 

He still finds it hard to believe. That she'd actually want  _ him,  _ and not just what he does to her. So he'd assumed it was just a deliberate play. Just another button to push, to get him to do what she wanted him to. Fury is far too good at figuring out what gets him going, far too perceptive not to have noticed his biggest weakness. He doesn't think she realises that this one sits so close to the core of him; that deep-down, genuine desire to have her want him. But the idea of her using it as just another button - it had made him feel manipulated. Turned his desire bitter, his lust into anger. And inebriated with Fever, he'd let it run away with him. Persisted in holding on to that resentment, even after she called him out on it, set the record straight. He'd refused to believe her. Let it twist what could have been a genuine moment into an ugly display of his own insecurities. 

Fury had refused to talk about what happened afterward, but Gage managed to bring it up with her last night. He doesn't think he did a great job of explaining himself, and he thinks having Nisha pull all his teeth out with rusty pliers might actually have been less painful, but he got some of his regrets off his chest without her running off, at least. She'd listened as patiently as she ever does when she doesn't want to talk, poised as if physically holding herself back from walking away from the conversation. 

He'd felt better after. Swore to himself that was the last time he ever resorted to Fever. That he'd never risk running his mouth straight into disaster like that again. 

Approximately ten seconds before Fury told him she was curious to try this Fever stuff. Together. 

And because he can't fucking resist her, because the thought of the Overboss burning up on Fever, willing and wanting and deliriously sensitive does things to him he can't quite wrap his head around, he'd told her he could arrange that. He doesn't know what the fuck he was thinking. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction, wanting to move on from a mortifying personal confession. Maybe he felt like he couldn't deny her anything after she'd abstained from kicking his pathetic ass to the curb. Or maybe self-destruction is inherent in everyone after all, and he's nowhere near as clever as he thinks he is, imagining himself above the idiots who want too much or too little. 

Either way - he said what he said, and what's done is done. Which is why they're sitting on one of the couches in the panoramic bar right now, watching the sunset with a bottle of Fever-spiked Nuka-Cola each, waiting for it to kick in. 

"Tastes weird," Fury remarks, making a face as she smacks her lips experimentally. "You'd think all the sugar would cover the flavor."

"Normally y'don't put in so much you can taste it," Gage replies. "But as you didn't wanna sit around drinking three or four of 'em, I had to crank up the dosage."

"How long's it supposed to take before you feel it?" she asks, before draining the last remaining soda from her bottle. 

"Depends on how fast y' drink it," he says, glancing at her sideways. "Chuggin' like this? Ten minutes if y're a lightweight, half an hour on the outside. Reckon for you it'll be about fifteen, maybe twenty."

"And it lasts for four hours?" 

"Give or take," he confirms. "Full effect does, anyway. The high tapers off an' lingers for another hour or two after that."

"Good thing I cleared our schedules for tomorrow then," she grins, hooking her arms behind the couch's backrest. 

Fury looks far more relaxed than he's feeling. His recent fuck-up sits fresh in Gage's mind, and he's still not convinced they're completely fine like she insists they are. Something about the way she's been with him since feels oddly on edge. As if there's some hesitation to her interactions with him. Maybe it's just him being paranoid, though. The way he reads her obviously needs some recalibrating, if the mess he made of things is anything to judge it by. 

He's in a contemplative mood, and she seems happy to sit in companionable silence with him. They watch the sky colour from faded orange to a deep purple, Nuka-World's broken structures turning to abstract shadows in the dying light. 

"One more thing, 'bout what happened the other day," Gage says, when he finally loses the battle of keeping his mouth shut. 

Fury groans and lets her head roll back, but doesn't tell him to shut up, which he takes as permission to continue.

"Jus'-  _ why? _ " 

"Why what?" she grunts, her eyes trained stubbornly on the ceiling. 

"Why the fuck are you into me?" 

She lets her head loll to the side so she can look at him, eyebrows raised. 

"You seriously still on about that?" she says. 

"I get that y' feel comfortable with me, an' we got that whole mutually beneficial deal goin' on-" 

"And I like your dick," she adds. 

"An' you like my dick," he echoes. 

"And the way you fuck me."

"-An' the way I fuck ya, right-" 

"And the way we work together, the way you think, your sense of fun and humor, listening to you ramble about any other topic than this one, your cooking-" she drones, counting her points down on her fingers. 

"So y' like me, fine," he interjects, a little annoyed at her belligerent attitude. "I get that. But shit, Boss- I'm old enough t'be- I'm  _ old, _ and I weren't exactly a looker t' start with."

"God, who  _ cares, _ " Fury groans, letting out a long-suffering sigh as she turns her attention back to the ceiling. "You're not too old to get it up, that's all I give a shit about. And for the record, I like the way you look just fine."

"I look like someone used my face fer bat practice, Boss," Gage snorts. "Cause someone  _ did. _ "

"It adds character," she grunts irritably. "Anyway, you don't even know how old  _ I  _ am. I could be nineteen. I could be twenty-five. I could be thirty-three. The women in my family are cursed with eternal baby-face. You have no way of knowing how much older you are than me."

"How old  _ are  _ you?" he says, narrowing his eyes at her. 

She's never mentioned her family before. He isn't sure if her doing so now speaks of honesty, or that she's spinning bullshit. 

"I'm not fucking telling you," she counters, glaring at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm not validating your stupid hang-up,  _ or  _ reassuring you it's not an issue. Just get over it."

"You gonna stop callin' me 'old man', then?" he grumbles. 

"Just as soon as it stops getting you mad," she says, a grin hooking at the corner of her mouth. 

"Don't test me, girl," Gage grunts. 

"Yeah?" Fury turns her head to face him again, that grin still lingering and making her eyes glitter with mischief. "That an 'or else' I'm hearing?" 

"Can't be a day over twenty," he drawls at her. "On account of you bein' such a fuckin'  _ brat _ ."

She moves fast, as she always does, rolling over and straddling his lap in one smooth motion that makes his heart jump into his throat. She plants her hands on either side of his head and leans in, a strand of her hair falling forward to tickle his nose as she curves herself over him. 

"Or else  _ what,  _ old man?" she says, her crooked smirk infuriatingly kissable. 

"Fever kickin' in already, hnh?" he rumbles at her, hands sliding up to cup her ass of their own volition.

She doesn't confirm or deny it, but her wide-blown pupils and the slight sheen of sweat that lays over her skin tell him all he needs to know. The responding pulse of arousal thrumming through his body at having her in his lap has nothing to do with any kind of drug. 

"Reckon we oughta take this inside," he tells her, sitting up straight to get on his feet. 

Fury grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him back into the couch cushions, the edge of her smirk sharpening. 

"Don't wanna take this inside," she says, her voice low and laced with something almost… 

Predatory. 

Gage's throat works on a swallow. The bitter aftertaste of the Fever has turned his mouth dry, and he runs the tip of his tongue between his lips to try and wet them, keenly aware of the fact that hers are so close he could just lean forward and taste them. 

"Folk could see," he rasps out. "They're liable to hear, even. You ain't exactly  _ quiet _ , Boss."

She leans forward, and her lips brush the side of his jaw briefly before she purrs directly into his ear. 

"I don't care. I want you. Now."

He can't control the shiver that runs down from the base of his skull to the tip of his spine. He sucks in a sharp breath, digs his fingers into her rear and yanks her hips into his. She lets out a satisfied little groan as he makes her feel how hard she's got him already, rolling his hips to grind his waking erection against her crotch. 

"Might be the Fever talkin'," he grits out. "Wouldn't want you regrettin' this in the mornin'."

He palms her ass and rocks up against her regardless, unable to stop himself. Fuck, she has him rock hard already, and he's not even feeling the telltale heat of the Fever yet. 

"You think we'd be doing this out here if I didn't want to run the risk we wouldn't make it inside?" she laughs into his ear, her breath a warm brush on his neck. "You know me better than that, Gage."

He does, and she's right, but his head is still screaming at him that this is a Very Bad Idea. His dick is very much on board with what's happening though, and he's already learned that when it comes to Fury, it gets the majority vote. Especially when she runs her tongue along the side of his neck like she's doing right now.

_ "Fuck, _ " Gage grunts, clutching at the back of her shirt as he presses her closer to him. 

Christ, she's making it hard for him to think. Does this mean she wants him to take her like he usually does, or is she planning on taking charge like she did last time they fucked in the bar like this? 

"Okay," he rumbles, gritting his teeth as she drags hers over a spot just underneath his ear. "How- What can I-" 

"Stop  _ thinking, _ " she purrs at him, and nips a path along his jaw before slanting her mouth over his in a demanding kiss. 

She's all teeth and hungry tongue, biting and licking and crushing her lips hard into his. His hand shoots up to wind into the hair at the back of her head, and he pulls hard in an instinctive attempt to take control. Fury fights against it, claws her fingers into his shirt-covered back and digs her knees into his hips, grinding herself against his front as if she can somehow crawl inside his skin. 

Gage moves to try and get her on her back, but she throws all her weight into staying on top of him. Crowds over him and takes hold of his jaw with both hands, coaxing his mouth open further so she can lick deeper into it. He yanks her back by her hair and sucks at her throat, and she retaliates by dragging her nails down his neck, leaving burning trails in their wake that make him gasp. 

It's like nothing they've done before. When she fights him it's to get away, to fend off the inevitable moment when she can't help but submit. This - this is a different kind of fight. She clashes against him, fighting not to simply avoid submission, but to gain the upper hand. She's strong, he knows she is, but something about the way she fights this time makes him  _ feel  _ it in a completely new way. Gage can hear his blood rush in his ears as adrenaline pumps through his veins, heady and electrifying. He brings her in to kiss her again, and she bruises his lip between their teeth in her urgency, works her hands underneath his shirt to feel up his stomach and chest. She's jerking her hips back and forth in his lap, riding against him, and he has to break away from her hungry mouth to gasp for air. 

" _ Fuck, _ " he slurs out, feeling half-drunk and overwhelmed, barely keeping up with her frantic onslaught. 

He takes hold of her chin to ward off another kiss, and she dips her head and sucks his thumb into her mouth, fellates it while working his shirt up his chest. 

"Shit, sweetheart, you're killin' me," he groans, watching her work her lips over his finger for a few moments. 

"Want you," she pants in reply, grinding herself against his pelvis and ignoring the pet name slipping from his tongue. "Feel so hot- Too many clothes, take them off."

Gage doesn't have to be told twice. Although it's easier said than done, as Fury is equally unwilling to stop groping him and rubbing herself against him as she is eager for both of them to strip off their clothes. He hisses out curses as he tries to get her out of her top while she writhes against him like a cat in heat, her own hands busy with trying to tug his shirt over his head. 

"Jus'- let me- Jesus girl,  _ down, _ " he growls, while she laughs and nips at him and wriggles in his grip. 

"Come on, baby," she pants in his ear, all husky and inviting while he struggles to get her top over her arms. "Want to feel you. Make me feel how much you want me."

She moans low as she circles her hips in his lap, rubbing herself against his dick, and Gage loses it a little. He rolls them both to the side and pushes her down onto her back, pressing her into the couch cushions as he devours her mouth with his own. He keeps her arms - still trapped in her shirt - pinned over her head with one hand, and fumbles at the front of her pants with the other, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline as they try to work at the buttons. She gasps and makes urgent little sounds into his mouth, getting in his way by hooking a leg over his thigh and trying to rock her hips up into him. 

"Quit it," he hisses, grabbing hold of her hip and squeezing it to force her back down to the couch. "Christ, Kitten, if I'd known you'd turn into a goddamned wildcat on this shit, I'd have stripped ya down 'fore I let ya have any."

She whines in reply, almost petulant, and arches her back as if her need pains her. Gage swears again and shifts above her, plants his knee between her thighs and presses it into her crotch to help pin her down. Fury mewls and grinds down on it, and he breathes hard through his nose as he works her pants open and tugs them down her hips. Thank fuck she went with a pair of combat pants instead of leather for tonight, at least. He sits back and pulls her legs up to take off her boots, while she wrestles her arms free of her top and grabs hold of the armrest behind her head, steadying herself against his impatient tugging. 

"Fuckin'-  _ off, _ " he growls, pulling her foot free with their combined effort. 

He chucks the offending boot away without looking, and it crashes against something out of his field of view, shattering it by the sound of it. 

"Harder," Fury tells him as he pulls at the other boot, her face flushed and eyes dark. 

Gage yanks hard, and it goes flying past his head, smacking into the glass of the panoramic window behind him. She kicks her legs while he pulls her pants down over them, and he barely dodges her foot as it flails past his face, a hair's breadth away from his nose. 

She takes advantage of his moment of distraction, scrambles up and into his lap again to attack him with renewed vigor. 

"Off," she pants, grabbing the edge of his shirt and wrestling it over his head. 

The fabric tears at the seam in his armpit in their rush to strip him, but Gage barely notices as the Fever starts to take hold of him. Heat is rising under his skin. Sweat drips off his back in tiny rivulets. His dick strains painfully against the confines of his pants, throbbing from the way Fury has been grinding into it. He lets out a breath of relief when she works the fly of his pants open and lets him spring free. She laughs as he lifts his hips to let her push his pants further down, raising her up in the process as if she weighs nothing, and leans in before he's gotten his legs free. 

"Damn it-" he manages before she crushes her searing hot lips into his, muffling his protest. 

Gage gives up and gives in, pulls her more snugly into his lap while she devours him hungrily with her mouth. Her skin burns underneath his fingers as he drags them down her back. He runs his hands over the curve of her hip, kneads the tender flesh of her ass, feels the muscles in her thighs flex underneath his palms. Perfect, every fucking inch of her. 

_ And all mine.  _

Fury moves restlessly against him, pressing close and sliding a hand between them to circle the base of his cock with her fingers. He bites back a moan as she squeezes him lightly, slides his tongue into her mouth while pulling her underwear to the side. She angles him back, he pulls her hips closer, and somewhere in their uncoordinated, frantic fumbling, his tip finds her entrance. 

Fury pulls back to look him in the eye, and he watches her mouth go slack as she lets herself sink down on him, enveloping his cock with wet, silken heat. He sets a hand on her lower back to steady her and curls his hips up, groaning softly as they work him inside her together, pressing down and pushing up in a halting rhythm. 

"That's it Kitten, take all of it," he breathes at her, and she bites her lip as she struggles to do just that. 

He looks down between them and growls at the sight, his cock twitching hard as he watches it gradually slide all the way inside her. 

"Fuck, y'take me so well," he grinds out, gripping her hips in both hands. "Fuckin' made for me."

Her laugh is almost a shudder, and she digs her fingers into his shoulders as he starts to gently move her hips back and forth, letting himself feel the tight drag of her walls around his cock without pulling out. 

"More like you're made for mmh-me," she pants, her eyes lidding half-shut at the pleasure of having him move in her. "Fill me so- so perfect-  _ God,  _ Gage, that's-" 

"I know," he rumbles, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before leaning back into the cushions. "Gets ya all sensitive, don't it?" 

"Fuck, yeah," she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut as she starts to rock her hips. 

He grips them more firmly to stop her from trying to move faster, forcing her into his slow, gentle rhythm. 

"Easy. Don't chase it," he tells her when she tries to protest. "You can have as many as y'can stand, my dick ain't goin' anywhere. Don't get yerself oversensitive on yer first."

It's sound enough advice, and if it stops him from shooting off in under thirty seconds like an overly excitable teenager, he'll happily take that bonus. 

"Shit, it's so good," she groans, and he has to flex his thighs not to pop like warm champagne right then. "I could cum like this, just from having you inside me,  _ fuck. _ "

Suddenly, he wants nothing more than exactly that, the thought of it drawing his balls tight and making him throb densely inside her. She moans at the sensation, and he has to fight the instinct to hold her down and piston up into her.  _ Not yet _ , he tells himself.  _ Not yet, there's all the time in the world for that later.  _

"You can," he tells her, his voice rough and low in his own ears. "I know you can, Kitten. C'mon. Cum f'me like this, just from my dick."

"Oh,  _ shit, _ " she gasps, digging her nails into his shoulders. "Keep talking like that and I- I fucking  _ will- _ " 

"Fuck, y're so  _ tight _ ," he breathes, watching her muscles tense and relax under her glistening skin as he moves her back and forth in his lap. "That feel good, sweetheart? Takin' my cock like this?" 

Fury moans, shivering and thoughtless, and Gage studies her face with rapt attention, barely breathing himself. 

"God, y're almost there already, aren't ya? Can feel ya-  _ nh,  _ squeeze me-" 

He's so goddamned close already himself, his jaw clenching hard to fight back his peak. 

"C'mon, darlin'," he pants, feeling his control rapidly slip away. "Lemme feel it. Cum on my dick an' I'll fill you up, pump yer li'l pussy nice an' full-" 

"Oh god, oh godfuck-  _ yes, _ " she moans, her back arching as her face twists into an expression of almost pained arousal. 

It's a good thing she's coming not a second later, because Gage can't hold himself back anymore. He strains against the back of the couch, groans low as he grinds up, burying himself inside her as deep as possible. Pleasure rushes up his thighs and spills out of him, hot and liquid and plentiful. He keeps her pinned on his cock as it pulses inside her, letting her climax milk out his own, toes curling with the pure fucking bliss of a Fever-enhanced orgasm. 

When he regains a semblance of coherent thought, Fury is slumped practically on top of him, her shuddered breaths wracking through her body. 

"H-holy shit," she croaks weakly, and he can't help but chuckle. 

"Yeah," he rasps back. "Hits different, don't it?" 

"How does- anyone get anything done around here, with access to this shit?" she mumbles into his shoulder. "Fucking hell. That was- something else, alright."

"Most folks don't- chug three doses' worth in under a minute when they're- already randy as hell," he huffs out between gasped breaths, fighting against the harsh pull of his lungs. 

"God, I think I could go again already," Fury groans, tightening around his still-hard length. 

He has no doubt that she could - just like he has no doubt she'd happily wear herself out on him in under an hour and crash hard from exhaustion and dehydration. 

"Gotta learn t' pace yerself," he tells her. "C'mon darlin', git."

He slaps her lightly on the ass, but she refuses to move, mutters something likely unflattering against his collarbone. Gage snorts at her and maneuvers them to lie down on the couch, putting her on her back while he looms over her. 

" _ Darling, _ " she says, in an accusatory sort of way, and frowns up at him. 

"Honey," he rumbles at her, and because apparently he has some kind of death wish, he kisses her on the nose. "Peaches." Another kiss on her cheek, light as a feather. "Buttercup." 

He brushes a third over her chin, and she sticks a hand in his face and pushes him away from her. 

"God,  _ stop it, _ " she half-growls, half-laughs. "What the fuck even is a  _ buttercup? _ " 

"No fuckin' idea," he grins at her, elated he managed to make her laugh instead of pissing her off. "Cup of butter, I guess?" 

"That doesn't make any  _ sense _ ," she grouses, her hand still on his face to keep him away. 

He sucks the finger closest to his lips into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, and her amused snort turns into a breathy moan. 

"How 'bout I make it up to you?" he says low, taking hold of her hand and bringing it back down. 

"And how're you going to do that?" she replies, giving him a look that rests somewhere between dubious and expectant. 

_ How to soothe the savage beast,  _ Gage thinks to himself, and leans over her to press a kiss against her sternum. 

"Clean up my mess, t' start with," he tells her, and slowly pulls out of her, enjoying her slick warmth for another moment before sucking in a breath at its loss. 

She makes a disappointed sort of noise, but she's quickly appeased as he kisses and nips his way down the length of her body, before delving in to lick her clean of both their spend. 

He takes his time to be thorough, enjoying the way she squirms and then writhes for him, grasping at his hair. He's been growing it out just for this, though there's no way he's telling her that. He keeps the sides and back shaved still, but the hair on top of his head is long enough for her to grab a solid handful and pull him closer while she traps his head between her thighs. He licks into her slow and firm, holding her hips down when she tries to grind against his mouth, steadily working her up to a gentle peak. He loves this - tasting her, tasting himself on her, having her try to ride his mouth while keeping him caught in the vice of her legs. The way she moans and wails his name, trembles as she falls apart. The way she tries to push him away as he holds her down and makes her cum all over again, and the way she bucks and fights and sobs when he wrenches a third orgasm from her, the thought of the world below hearing her shrieks of pleasure, for  _ him,  _ filling him with possessive pride. 

He lets her rest after, makes her drink a carton of water while she recovers. She's draped over the couch like a blanket, all loose and boneless, and looks at him with half-lidded eyes and a soft smile on her lips. 

"What?" he asks, in between drinking small mouthfuls from his own carton, his tongue and jaw stiff and aching. 

"You're good at that," she murmurs, her afterglow smoothing out the sharp angles of her face. 

He doesn't really know what to say to that, resorts to giving her a cocky, lop-sided grin. To his surprise, she curls her legs underneath her and moves to lay her head in his lap, her dark hair fanning out over his thighs. 

"Whatcha doin' down there, Kitten?" he asks her, quirking a brow at her. 

"Take a guess," she says, giving him a Cheshire grin as she strokes her fingers over his length. 

He's been hard pretty much the entire time, and having her touch him now feels nothing short of electrifying. 

"Fuck," he grunts, watching her study his cock while she runs her fingers from base to tip and back down again. "You don't gotta-" 

"I want to," she hums, curling her fingers around his shaft and stroking him slowly. 

It's the first time she's done anything like this. As absurd as it is, considering all the other shit he's done to her and she's done to him, it hits him like a brick to the head. He swallows hard and fists his hands into the couch cushions, feeling oddly vulnerable and intensely aroused at the same time. 

"Pretty wild that all of this fits inside me," Fury muses. 

He opens his mouth to say something in response, but then she leans in and licks up the drop of slick liquid welling from his tip, and all that leaves his throat is a garbled groan. 

He slides a hand into her hair, stares down at her as she slides her tongue over his tip, every bit as slow and thorough as he was with her. She's barely even touched him yet and he already feels like he's going to lose it - and then she looks up at him from underneath her dark lashes and sucks him into her mouth, and he stutters out a moan, feeling like he can barely breathe. 

"Jesus, Boss," he groans, watching her slide his dick in and out between her lips. 

He's fucked her mouth dozens of times before and loved it, and while the sight of it is just as hot as the one before him now, it hits him in a different way. Not better per se, but… different. Gage strokes Fury's hair with a shaking hand, gliding his fingers through the soft strands, and sinks down against the couch's backrest as the goddamned Overboss, Queen of Nuka-World, sucks his cock like it's a fine art. 

"God, sweetheart," he pants, voice hoarse and wrecked. "You're so fuckin' perfect. You got no idea-" 

She does something with her tongue that stirs his brain like an eggwhisk, and he groans like he's in pain, the muscles in his neck tensing like cords. Gage cups his free hand around the back of her neck and focuses on staying still, his heaving breaths vibrating with barely held back moans. He gingerly pets her hair while she licks him like a lollipop, his toes curling into the carpet while she makes little sounds of enjoyment that shoot white-hot arousal up his spine. 

"Gettin' close," he warns her with a gasp, fending off the urge to force her head down. "Gonna'-  _ nh!  _ Fuck, darlin', y're gonna make me-" 

His voice twists tight and sharp between his gritted teeth, and his body tenses like a coiled spring, right on the edge. Fury flutters her eyes shut and groans, suckling at him as if she can't wait to have him flood her mouth, and he chokes out an embarrassingly helpless moan as he spills onto her tongue, his legs trembling under the sleight weight of her shoulders. 

She swallows him down, chasing the last leak of seed with her lips, and then draws back to give him a smile so bright and sincere that he's pulling her up into his lap before he knows what he's doing. 

"C'mere," he rasps out, gathering her in his arms and wrapping his own around him. 

"Gage-" she says, his name a sigh that he drinks from her lips like she drank down his spill. 

She curls into him as he kisses her, her hands braced on his shoulders, gasping for air while he licks into her mouth. He's greedy, selfish, digging his fingers into her flesh and molding her body against his, and she burns him up from the inside as she responds, taking as much in turn as she gives. 

The Fever starts to blur it all together, makes it hard to tell who pushes and who pulls, who conquers and who yields. He bends her over the couch and she rides bruises into his hips, she wraps her hand around his throat as he thrusts into her from below. They melt as much as they clash, and he can't stop revelling in the contrast of it, of her. Soft yet strong, every bit as warm and willing as she is fierce and demanding. 

God, he loves her. 

Gage doesn't think the words actually leave his lips. They're pressed against hers most of the time, her lips and her throat and her shoulder and her breast, every part of her he can reach. And she doesn't show signs of having heard, doesn't pull away or shrink back. She winds herself around him, moves against him, takes him inside her and slides slick pleasure around him. He sings her praises with his fingers, anoints her with his tongue, covers her with his body and fills her over and over, and in the feverish bliss that has them both in its grip, he isn't afraid of the way she pumps through his veins and settles in his heart, rocking a sweet warmth through him with every beat. 

He has her in his lap when the haze starts to fade, her back pressed against his chest. Her head lays in the curve of his shoulder, and she presses languid kisses to the side of his neck as he slides slowly in and out of her, one hand on her breast while the other gently rubs over her clit. They're practically stuck together with sweat, drenched in it, and the thick smell of sex hangs over them like a damp blanket. 

Fury purrs softly as he rocks her on his cock, and his breath is slow and even, the pleasure of feeling her slick and warm around him as relaxing and all-encompassing as soaking in a hot bath. 

"Mine," he rumbles at her, and he vaguely recalls he's said the word before. A few times, maybe. Recalls working her to a climax while breathing it with every thrust, and her answering, jubilant cries in response,  _ yoursyoursyours _ . 

She hums, sated and content, boneless against him while he moves inside her. He doesn't think he's going to cum again - doesn't want to. He's perfectly content just feeling her like this, stealing kisses and missing her lips more often than not, feeling her smile curve against his skin when she presses her face into the crook of his neck. 

He slips out of her eventually, holds her close and pulls her legs up while he lays down onto his side. She fits against his front like it's where she belongs, slides her arm around the one circling her waist and holds on to it. They drift into sleep like that, and when he wakes up from her shivering late into the night, he carries her inside and into their bed, buries them both underneath the covers and drifts off again with her nestled into the hollow of his body.

When he wakes up in the morning, she isn't laying next to him. He panics the two full minutes it takes for her to emerge from the bathroom and slip back into bed. She grumbles something inaudible and tugs his arm around her waist, and the tightness in his chest loosens, though it doesn't quite manage to erase the sense of unease clinging to his ribs. 

They don't talk about the night before when they finally drag themselves out of bed, stiff and sore and covered in the marks they left on each other. He didn't expect them to. She's always like this, after the sex has been particularly intimate. Acts like nothing has happened, like whatever passed between them the night before was nothing but a dream. He used to think it's regret that makes her withdraw this way. Or that she doesn't want to lead him on, have him think there's something more than just an arrangement between them.

Nowadays, he doesn't know what to think. It doesn't make it any easier to deal with losing that easy, comfortable closeness they had only a few hours ago. Its loss is an ache he thought he'd get used to over time, but it never did - only ever got worse, really. 

They wash up with plain soap and tepid water, scrubbing away the stink of sweat and sex. Trade casual jokes about burning the couch they fucked on, drenched as it must be in fluids of questionable origin. He cooks them breakfast. They eat together, their conversation easy and unstilted. She makes them coffee from centuries-old powder, and they take their mugs outside to greet the day, look out over Nuka-World from their perch on the elevator platform. Gage stares off into the distance as he sips the bitter brew, a single thought repeating itself in his head with the slow rhythm of a heartbeat, or a funeral bell. 

He loves her. 

Well,  _ shit _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear.
> 
> Shout out to Gaqalesqua, whom I got the idea of Feverblossom acting as an aphrodisiac from. Check out their fics, they're excellent, numerous, and hawt af.


	2. Undecided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few caveats/clarifications before we start:
> 
> This chapter contains references to dog fighting (though no depictions), references to animal cruelty/abuse, and (non-graphic) depictions of the aftermath of animal cruelty/abuse. It's pretty mild content, and none of the main characters engage in any of the above, but I know this is a sensitive topic to some people and this is the first time it's addressed in this fic, which is why I'm adding this warning.
> 
> 'Daddy' is used as a (teasing) nickname in this chapter, but this fic doesn't feature any daddy kink content, nor is the nickname used in that context. No judgement here for fans or haters of that particular kink, it simply doesn't feature here, and I'd hate for anyone to pre-emptively decide to stop reading because they're afraid that it will.

The second major issue Gage has with regards to the Overboss is that he just can't seem to figure her out. 

He's always scoffed at men lamenting the supposedly mystifying workings of the female mind. As far as he's experienced, paying some fucking attention goes a long way for women and men alike. But Fury perplexes him. She runs hot and cold faster than he can keep up with, to no internal logic that he's able to figure out. She bends when he expects her to push back, digs in her heels when he's certain he's got her pliant. He'd screwed up big the other day - so big thinking about it still makes him wince almost a week later - and he'd figured he was pretty much done for. Out on his dumb ass. Pack his bags, grab his coat, so long and thanks for all the dick. Instead, she'd practically smacked him upside the head, told him she's into him, and blown his fucking mind. Kissed him. Held him. Made him come by moaning his _name._

Noone calls him by his name. He doesn't even _like_ his name all that much. He's just Gage, and that's always suited him just fine. It feels weird when someone calls him Porter. He's still not sure why Fury calling him by his name while he was balls deep inside her rocked him to his foundations.

He still doesn't even know hers. 

And then there was the Fever, and how it turned her wanton and loose in his arms. Turned their game of fight and submission into a celebration of strength and mutual surrender. She'd undone him so gently it felt like being lovingly stripped to the bone, joyfully completed him again, and rolled out of bed in the morning to stretch as if all of it had been nothing more than a particularly enjoyable sparring session. 

She does that. Casually, devastatingly unravels him, and when he thinks he might catch a glimpse of her in turn, she turns to fog between his fingers. Shies away from his kiss as if she didn't let him taste oblivion on the back of her tongue the night before. Flees the bed she commandeered him into, slipping out of the loose, sleep-heavy hold of his arms as if his touch is invasive. As if she didn't twine herself so close against him he could barely tell where he ended and she began, the night before. As if she hadn't laid him bare to his core and cradled it with reverent fingers, so careful he felt like something precious for all too brief a moment. 

It's annoying as all hell. 

Part of him wants to pin her down and get her to tell him what the hell is going on inside her head. Part of him just wants to pin her down and leave it the hell alone, enjoy what he does to her and she does to him without questioning it. Wanting more than what he already has, what she already gives him, would be beyond greedy.

And yet. 

It'd be so much easier not to _want_ so much if he didn't feel like he catches the occasional look behind the veil, that the solution to the maddening riddle she presents is just out of his reach. If he didn't catch her looking at him with a strangely wistful look every now and then. If she didn't say his name as if it were a prayer while he moves inside her. If she didn't keep changing the rules and then breaking them, convincing him fucking him is just practical and getting pissed off when he takes her at her word, leaving him clueless as to what the fuck it is that she actually wants _._ Or maybe it wouldn't be easier at all, and he'd just chase after her regardless, because his stupid ass decided to fall in love with her. 

It's the dog, of all things, that finally gives him the piece of the puzzle he was looking for. And as he should have expected, it doesn't end up solving anything. 

Saying the Pack's den reeks wouldn't do its oppressive assault on the senses justice. The air inside the warren-like former theater backstage is a humid miasma, so thick it takes on a presence of its own. Dozens of unwashed bodies living in close quarters, human and animal alike, would be enough to produce a rich bouquet of stench by itself. The Pack's novel idea of incorporating open meat storage into their interior design adds a nauseating undertone of rotting flesh to the mix, and their fondness for painting their gear and themselves in bright colours rounds out the dizzying concoction of olfactory awfulness with acrid chemical notes. 

The Smell (because it sure as fuck deserves the mental capital S) hangs over Gage like a heavy, overly friendly drunk at a bar, its clammy hands sticking to him with uninvited familiarity. 

It's times like these he regrets letting himself fall into the habit of accompanying Fury to her meetings with the gang leaders. At first it was about keeping an eye on her, after he figured out her temper hid a subtle kind of cunning he didn't trust. Still doesn't, if he's honest with himself, but he's come to trust that her ambitions for Nuka-World align with his own, at least. Then it was more about keeping himself informed, staying on top of the constantly shifting landscape of raider politics. It's still about that, to some extent, but he can't fool himself into pretending his motivations have nothing to do with a certain compulsion to simply be near the Overboss.

They're talking territory today, an eternal topic of dispute. Fury has secured three of the parks so far and divided them evenly amongst the gangs; Kiddie Kingdom to the Disciples, World of Refreshment to the Operators, and Safari Adventure to the Pack. The trouble is only two parks remain to be taken, and none of the gangs is willing to give up their stake on Nuka-Town, with the market at its beating heart. It's been a headache for a while now, with each gang downplaying the perks of their existing territory and accusing the Overboss and her advisor of favoritism towards the other two. 

Fury has even less patience for all the squabbling than Gage does himself, but he's convinced her to at least give the gang leaders the illusion that she's listening to their concerns. The situation in Nuka-World has turned decidedly less volatile now the gangs have some room to spread out in, but that doesn't mean it isn't still a powder keg, ready for a spark large enough to set it off. The last thing they need is a revolt from one of the factions. 

Even if it means having to put up with the revolting Smell in the den every now and then. 

Gage has his arms crossed in front of his chest, his long legs stretched out underneath the table they're sat at. Fury's foot idly rubs against the back of one of his calves as she argues with Mason, her hands busy with gesticulating and pointing at the map of Nuka-World spread out between them. The Pack's Alpha leans forward with his elbows planted firmly on the table, eyes glittering as he watches the Overboss. Another reason Gage didn't opt out of attending this particular meeting. The way Mason looks at Fury sets his teeth on edge. 

"...and you _know_ it's total bullshit. You _specifically asked for_ territory with enough open space for your animals, so don't you come crying to me about the value of pre-built structures- Hey. Hey! You, with the magenta scarf- yeah, you. What're you doing?"

Fury raises her voice enough to pull Gage out of his focus on trying to breathe as little as possible. He watches her shove her chair back, its legs scraping loudly over the floor. The noise of several people busying themselves in the large windowless room dies down as she gets up from her seat. Gage leans back and cranes his neck to follow her with his gaze as she walks up to a Pack member in an elephant mask, wondering what's gotten into her head this time. The woman in question straightens up in an effort not to shrink back under the sudden attention. She cups a hand underneath the pup she was dangling by the scruff a moment ago, just out of reach of the snapping jaws of one of the Pack's fighting dogs.

"Uh… playin' with Maul?" Elephant answers, somewhere between uncertain and defensive. 

The woman's face is covered by her mask, but Gage can tell by her tone and the way she shifts her stance that Fury makes her nervous. He permits himself a small smile at the observation. 

_That's my girl._

"What are you doing with that?" Fury clarifies, pointing at the pup in Elephant's hands. 

"This?" Elephant lifts the pup as if she only just remembered she's holding it. "Just a runt, Boss. Gotta get my boy eager for the fight tonight. Nothin' like some live bait to sharpen 'is teeth. Got good odds for the night, Maul does, if you fancy a wager?"

There's a slight tremble at the end of her question. Fury's reputation among the Pack especially is one of unpredictable viciousness. Gage reckons they still haven't figured out what the last idiot who pissed off the Overboss said or did to incur her wrath. He doesn't even know himself why she'd held the guy down and split his tongue in half lengthwise with her knife. She'd muttered something about assholes and their assumptions when he brought it up, and when he asked the guy's friends about it they got weirdly evasive. 

"I'll pass. Give me that."

Fury holds out a hand expectantly, and Elephant manages to give her an owlish look even with a mask covering her face. 

"What?" 

"The runt," Fury snaps impatiently. "Give it here."

Elephant looks down at the whimpering pup she's holding and back up at the Overboss, and hurriedly holds it out, arm stretched out gingerly as if she's feeding a particularly ornery gatorclaw. Fury scoops the tiny thing up and turns her back on Elephant without another word, carrying the pup back to where she was seated. 

"Hold this for a minute," she tells Gage as she sits back down, dumping the pup unceremoniously in his lap.

He cups his hands underneath it before it can slide off his legs. It squirms and huddles into his palms, its little body shivering. 

"What you want with that?" Mason asks dubiously. "You want a dog, I can getcha a real one. Got a litter's just started training. Proper fighting dogs, not some little scrawny thing not worth the meat t'feed it."

"I'm good," Fury says, pulling up her shirt and tying it off tight underneath her midriff. 

The pup in Gage's hands presses its nose against his fingers, leaving a small damp spot behind. He doesn't know much about dogs. This one isn't a newborn, as far as he can tell. Its eyes are open, the puppy blue of its irises already fading into a light rust brown. It's a small thing though, small enough to hold in one hand, although Gage admits his are larger than average. A runt, Elephant said. A month? Maybe two? Is that old enough for a dog to survive without its mother? It's a wonder it's survived this long, looking at it. Judging by the wounds layered over the pup's face and body, fresh on top of old, it's been used as a chew toy for the other dogs before. 

"You feelin' sorry for it?" Mason scoffs, his eyes on Fury's bared stomach. "Law of Nature, Boss. The weak die and the strong survive. Thought you knew that."

"I like a nice bit of dog," Fury grins at the Pack Alpha. "Feed a runt up with bread and milk, you get some good meat on it."

She scoops the pup out of Gage's hands and slides it down the front of her shirt. Her dog-enhanced bust wiggles around for a few moments, before settling down. She gives it a satisfied little pat. 

"Right, where were we?" 

Mason accepts her answer with a grunt, and though he gives her pup storage solution an odd look, he doesn't comment on it. They return to bickering over the division of the parks, the interruption seemingly already forgotten. From his seat at Fury's side, Gage can see her surreptitiously stroke the little bundle in her shirt with her thumb every now and then. 

"Nice t'see you take an interest in fixin' us dinner for once," he tells her when they're on their way back to the Hideout, his expression carefully neutral. She might have Mason fooled, but he likes to think he knows her a little better than that big ape does. 

She gives him an amused look from the corner of her eyes, her hand cupped underneath the badly hidden passenger in her cleavage. 

"You like dog meat?" she asks innocently. 

"Never had much of a taste for it," he shrugs. 

"Aw, you hear that, Dogmeat?" Fury coos at the little bundle in her shirt. "Daddy doesn't like you."

She tuts sadly while he makes a sound of mixed protest and offense in the back of his throat. 

" _Daddy_?" he growls at her. 

"You going to let your new- hang on."

Fury carefully extracts the pup from her shirt and inspects it briefly, before gently stuffing it back into her cleavage. It whines pitifully at being handled. 

"-your new son grow up fatherless? That's cold, Gage. Real cold."

"What- I don't- The hell you saddlin' me with this dog, girl!" Gage sputters at her. 

"That's _Overboss_ in public," Fury says, a hint of warning in her voice. 

Gage quickly glances around, but no one's near enough to hear their conversation. 

"You wanna keep the damn dog, it's _your_ dog," he grumbles at her, lowering his voice. 

"I give it a week," she says smugly. 

"A week before I chuck the damned thing over the edge of the overlook?" he grunts. 

"A week before you'd kill anyone who'd dare lay a finger on your furry son," Fury clarifies happily. "Willing to bet a bottle of 'shine on it."

"Make it three and get ready t' pay up, Boss," he replies. "I don't even like dogs."

"A week," Fury says, ignoring his grousing completely. 

"It's gonna bite ya on the tit," Gage tells her dryly. 

"You'll just have to kiss it better then," she shrugs, and smirks when he inhales just a little sharper at the thought. 

"That thing better not end up sleepin' in our bed," he growls, when he's somewhat recovered from the sudden spike of lust her suggestion stabbed him with. 

" _Our_ bed?" Fury says, quirking an eyebrow at him as she steps onto the elevator platform. 

"You make me sleep in it with ya every damn night, it's _our_ bed," he grunts at her. 

Trying to sound casual and careless. Trying not to show the panic rising in his throat at the realisation he's slipped up, let her know how easily his mind slips into _them_ and _theirs_ lately, fuck, _fuck._

Fury's eyes dart around, but they're still out of earshot of anyone who could be listening. 

"First time I hear you complain about it," she says with a hint of challenge. 

"Ain't complainin'," he says, maybe just a touch too quickly. "Jus' not about t' catch fleas off some mutt ya decided t' bring home."

"First one worked out fine," she smirks at him, and he's too damn struck by the possible ways he could interpret _that_ one to formulate a proper response. 

Fury takes the pup into their quarters, and Gage follows more or less on auto pilot. The place has undergone quite the change since the new Overboss moved into it. It's been cleared out and thoroughly cleaned from ceiling to floor, for one. While Colter mainly used it as a storeroom and workshop to tinker with his power armor, Fury has converted it into her living space. She's turned the platform on the right side of the room into a combined bedroom/sitting area, her large double bed set into the cutout in the wall where Colter's power armor stand used to be. His own single bed remains where it's always been, though she made him get a new mattress and proper bedding for it, and replaced the canvas walling it off from the rest of the room with thick curtains. 

The other corner of the platform now sports two sofas and a coffee table, and the tables stacked around the pillar in the middle of the room have been replaced by some kind of circular desk she had him lug halfway across Nuka-Town for her. 

The left side with its interior elevator access is where they keep their guns, gear and the tools to work on it. Fury had the interior elevator disabled when she moved into the Hideout, hating the idea of people having easy access to her private domain. Knowing how much time, effort and caps she's sunk into the place, he doesn't blame her for it, either. She's turned it into a proper home, a refuge from the outside world.

Gage isn't sure why she lets him live in it with her. Sure, he's been living there since before she came to Nuka-World - he'd claimed part of the place for himself, what with Colter mainly using the outside bar area as his personal pad - but he wouldn't even have begrudged her kicking him out of it. Not that he's about to look a gift horse in the mouth. As much as he protested her recruiting him to help out with getting the Hideout in order, he can't deny the end result is vastly more pleasant to live in. 

He settles himself at the table that serves as his personal desk, and divides his attention between going over the books and watching the Overboss tend to her new pup. Fury doesn't have a head for numbers, she'd claimed when he tried to fill her in on Nuka-World's finances. He's not sure if she trusts him to keep fair track of them, or just doesn't care as long as the caps keep rolling in, but he doesn't mind doing it. Did the same for Colter before, and at least Fury doesn't spend most of their budget on fucking power armor. 

He scratches his chin with the back of his pencil as he watches her warm up a tub of water and carefully wash the runt with a soft cloth. It's not the care that surprises him, or the gentleness with which she handles the tiny thing as it whimpers and squirms in her hands. Folks in settlements like to think that raiders are nothing but heartless, vicious monsters. Gage doesn't blame them, but he also knows they're wrong. Weakness might be punished harshly among raiders, but so is fucking with the things someone holds dear. He knows tough-as-nails, hard-faced men and women that have ruthlessly cracked down on someone for kicking their cat, or talking shit about their mom, or making fun of their teddy bear collection. Almost every raider has something or someone they care about, in Gage's experience. Sometimes weird as fuck, often hidden, and always protected like a clutch of deathclaw eggs. 

Seeing Fury _care_ for something isn't what strikes him as odd - it's the _patience_ with which she cleans and tends to the pup's wounds, wipes the crusts from its eyes. He can see she has to work at it. The pup is frightened, fights to escape her hold. Wiggles and nips at her hands while she works at calming it. The effort of keeping her frustration at bay draws her lips into a thin line, creases her brow and tenses her shoulders. It looks simultaneously out of character and yet naggingly familiar, and it takes Gage a good half hour of furtive study before he realises when he's seen her like this before. 

She looked like that when he lashed out at her, frustrated at the pretense of her wanting him. She looked like that while she painstakingly tried to explain that he had the wrong idea about why she let him fuck her. She looks like that every single time something he does pushes her to confront this thing between them, when she could just as easily tell him to go fuck himself. All he'd seen was her reluctance, her distaste, the way she had to force herself to even talk or listen to him. All he'd seen was the effort; he'd completely missed the intent driving it. 

He sees it now, in the soft smiles between her annoyed squinting, in the tenderness of her fingers while she soothes the frightened runt after it's peed all over her, the tone of her voice calm and reassuring despite the colourful expletives it wraps around. How carefully she holds onto that patience, determined with every fibre of her being not to let it slip. A woman who snaps at the drop of a hat, who routinely resorts to physical violence when people merely look at her funny, fighting to keep her temper down so she doesn't hurt or scare or lash out at a small, defenseless pup. Because she's decided it's hers. Because she decided to care about it. 

Like she does for him. 

The world seems to sway wildly around Gage as he processes the sudden revelation. As pieces that seemed disconnected before slot together and form a picture that he should have seen so much earlier. So damnably simple. So blindingly obvious. 

She cares about him. 

His stomach draws tense with confused nausea at the realisation. Part of him sings with sudden elation, anxious excitement so intense it feels like his nerves are bursting like fireworks. Another part plunges straight into panic, thoughts skittering over various pitfalls and possibilities like startled radroaches. The notion that he's not alone in his growing attachment is one he'd considered outlandish up until now. All evidence seemed to point firmly to the opposite. Maybe he didn't want to see the signs for what they were, because in hindsight, they seem glaringly obvious, contradicting themselves so blatantly he could slap himself for not noticing it earlier. 

Fury cares about him, though he doesn't know to what extent. And she's struggling with it every bit as much as Gage does with the fact that he loves her. 

He draws a hand down over his face and lets out an unsteady breath, presses his fist to his mouth as he tries to corral his thoughts. This changes everything. This- this is a _problem._ A disaster waiting to happen, far worse than he thought-

"Black twins swindle us out of our caps or something?" 

Fury's voice cuts through the frantic whirring in his head, and he looks up to see her standing almost next to him. She has little Dogmeat swaddled in a towel, held close to her chest while she peers down at the notebook he uses for his rudimentary accounting. 

"What?" he says, knocked off balance by the sudden interruption to his moment of personal crisis. 

"You're staring at those numbers as if you've somehow managed to accidentally sell us into slavery," she says. "Everything alright?" 

She looks up at him, clearly somewhat frustrated at his slow response, but waiting for him to get his head straight. Patient, in her own way. Anyone else, and she'd already snapped at them. How did he miss it all this time? 

"No, yeah," he replies hurriedly. "Was just thinkin' of… somethin' else. Numbers are good, Boss. Nothin' to worry about. Can talk you through 'em if you want."

"Alright," she says, eyeing him a moment longer, before visibly shrugging off his weird behaviour as inconsequential. "Later, maybe. I need a shower. Look after Dogmeat for a minute, I don't want him scampering off on his own with the shit we have laying around the place."

Gage takes the swaddled runt from her hands when she holds it out, and settles it down on his lap. 

"You're gonna want a crate or somethin'," he grunts at her, defaulting to gruff as he tries to get a grip on acting normal. "I'm not babysittin' anytime you need yer hands free. An' it's _not_ sleepin' in our bed."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't want you rolling over and squashing him in your sleep anyway," Fury says, waving her hands at him in an irritable sort of gesture. "Or have this little shit piss the sheets. I'll sort something out."

"Y' hear that, Dogmeat?" Gage says, addressing the bundle of towel and pup. "Your mom says you're a little shit."

"You're _both_ little shits," Fury growls, but he can see the corner of her mouth twitch up just before she turns to make her way to her bathroom. 

"Ah, she don't mean it," he mutters, rubbing a finger behind the pup's ears. "Temper of a brahmin with a toothache, that one. She likes me just fine. Jury might still be out on you, though."

"Remind me why I keep you around again?" Fury calls from the bathroom doorway. 

Ears like a bat, that woman. 

"I do the cookin' an' you like my dick," he replies out loud, leaning back in his chair and cupping his hands around the bundle in his lap. 

Her grumbled reply is lost under the squeak and thump of the bathroom door being pulled shut behind her. Gage shakes his head and breathes out, slow and deliberate. 

"If only it were that easy, huh," he murmurs to noone in particular. 

The pup in his hands lets out a tiny sneeze in reply, and he runs his thumb over its head until it falls asleep, curled up in a small, warm ball on his lap. 

Four days later, Gage admits defeat by leaving three bottles of moonshine on the kitchen counter. Though seeing as Dogmeat sleeps in his makeshift crate at night, he figures it's more or a draw, really. 

He'll take his wins where he can get them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, no smut? *bangs fists on table* I want my money back, dammit!
> 
> I've been thinking about adding some pictures to aid with visualisation for a while now. I know some people hate any OC-insertion, and those that do can leave the links provided here unclicked, but this series is partially based off my playthrough of Nuka-World, and consequentially, the way I've modded and customised my game. So provided for your reference:
> 
>   
> [Porter Gage and Dogmeat](https://thesoleslutvivor.tumblr.com/post/642738792524087296/two-good-bois)  
> [Fury](https://thesoleslutvivor.tumblr.com/post/642738847656050688/the-overboss-herself)  
> [The Hideout ](https://thesoleslutvivor.tumblr.com/post/642738173811769344/the-overboss-hideout)
> 
> More Nuka-Cola AfterDark tidbits, random Fury & Gage facts and Fallout shenanigans @ [my tumblr.](https://thesoleslutvivor.tumblr.com)


	3. Worry Worry Worry

It would be better just to focus on the plan, Gage tells himself. On Nuka-World. There's plenty enough to worry about without dwelling on the Overboss and her feelings towards him - or lack thereof; just because she cares about him doesn't necessarily mean it has to be anything more than that, he reminds himself. But with how hell-bent Fury is on avoiding anything that would mean acknowledging she even  _ has  _ feelings, it becomes almost impossible not to think about. He really doesn't know why it took him this long to see it. Her distaste for anything that smacks of intimacy is almost as obvious as the way she seems to crave it. Sure, she'll complain and protest and fight him until he wears her down, but once she lets go of that almost neurotic grip on herself, she melts for every affectionate word and touch he gives her. 

And if he’s honest, he craves it every bit as much as she does. His position in Nuka-World is pretty lonely one. Gage knows most of the other raiders don't like him - hell, most don't even respect him. The whole thing with Colter didn't help endear him to anyone. And even before that whole debacle, he's always stood apart from the rest of the Nuka-World raiders. He doesn't participate in the wild orgies of drink and destruction they call fun. Stays off the chems. They need his head for strategy, the sense of direction and purpose he gives them, but they also resent him for it. Before Fury stepped into the picture, the friendliest way he got treated was with casual disdain. And while he doesn't care what any of them think of him aside from what's useful to his goals, he didn't realise how good it is to have someone who actually likes having him around until the Overboss came into his life. 

Not only does she like him - she  _ sees  _ him. Respects his opinions. Asks for them. Listens to him ramble about life and his view on it, listens to the tidbits of his personal history he shares with her. Figures out what he likes, and what he wants, and what makes him tick with the kind of keen interest that should really unnerve him, but doesn't. She knows him better than anyone ever has at this point. He didn't know it was something he craved until he got a taste for it. 

Fury, on the other hand, seems highly averse to being known. But she shows herself to him in turn, he's come to realise. When he gets her mindless is the most genuine he ever sees her. When she struggles and he has to break her before she lets herself enjoy it - she's honest. When he's forced her to cum several times and she's delirious with overstimulation, it's real. He loves dragging her kicking and screaming to that point of letting go, because it's  _ sincere _ . He doesn't have to worry about her being truthful when he takes her out of her own head. When he can make her shudder with a single, almost chaste kiss, or when she lays liquid in his arms, glowing and sated, murmuring his name - his real name - while he traces his fingers in aimless patterns over her skin. 

That's why it's so difficult to give up. It's… addictive. Having something so rare, so real, so precious. Gage isn't the kind of man who uses words like 'sacred', but if he was, that's how he'd think of those stolen moments. When she lets go of whatever stops her from letting her have what she wants, and he is free to give it to her. Sacred. 

There's nothing sacred about what he's doing to her right now - but then again maybe there is, in some twisted, fucked up way, because when it comes to Fury all rules and reason and common sense get tossed out of the window. 

It starts with her leaving her quarters in that goddamned Nuka Girl costume they found the other week. If he said he hadn't pictured her in it when she stripped it off the animatron, he'd be lying, but actually seeing her in it makes something in his brain short circuit.  The white lycra fabric clings to her body, leaving little to the imagination. The deep cleavage and bare midriff don't help, either. Worst of all, something about the pristine pre-war outfit, combined with the dark grease smeared around her eyes and the shaved sides of her head, makes her look like some kind of debauched wasteland pin-up. She's foregone the helmet and faux breathing apparatus, likely in favour of manoeuvrability. He mouths at her in wordless protest as she seats herself on the bar counter to slide on the costume's thigh-high boots, momentarily lost for words. 

"You can't be serious," he croaks when he finds his voice again. 

"Deadly," she says, smirking at him. "You're always telling me that three quarters of being Overboss is about image, right? If there's anything that Brad-bear-bury fella got right, it's the importance of branding. So I figured this costume gives me the perfect opportunity to embrace the identity of our domain and really look the part."

She fastens her gun belt around her hips and draws a familiar red plastic pistol from one of the holsters, striking a brief pose with it. 

"Give my subjects a reminder of how Colter met his end, and all."

She's even managed to find the right shade of lipstick, and her smile is a slash of cherry-red that cuts the breath straight from his lungs. She aims the water pistol at herself and tilts her head back, shoots a jet of water at her chin that runs down her throat and into the costume's generous cleavage. 

"Ah, instant refreshment," she gasps, arching her back and displaying her chest. 

She isn't wearing a bra underneath the flimsy excuse for a top, and the fabric shapes and pushes her breasts up in a way that makes her modest bust look like she's generously stacked. He can see her nipples strain underneath the white fabric, hard in the lingering mid-March chill. It isn't anywhere near warm enough for such a thin outfit, but apparently she's willing to endure the cold for the effect it has on him.

A literal fucking demon, sent up from hell to torment him. 

He shakes his head and tries not to let on he's fighting the urge to have her on the counter right there and then. Unsuccessfully, judging by the way she grins at him as she hops down and sashays over to the elevator. 

They're taking some time off after their successful reclamation of the Galaxy Zone, and the territory negotiations have come to a cease-fire for the time being. There's no real reason for Gage to follow Fury around on whatever excursion she has in mind for today. But he'll be damned if he's going to let her wander off on her own for the other raiders to salivate over, looking the way she does right now. 

As expected, she turns more heads than are speared outside the Disciples den when they make their way through Nuka-Town. Exactly what she's going for, if he knows her at all. It didn't take her long to figure out he has a possessive streak, and that seeing other men or women show an interest in her spurs him on to stake his claim, to remind her she belongs to him behind closed doors. The way Mason's gaze practically drips down her body when they pass him by has Gage's lips peel back from his teeth. 

The look on the Alpha's face when Fury shoots a squirt of water right between his eyes is admittedly hilarious. And the dumbstruck expressions of a bunch of raiders watching their Overboss prance around in some ridiculous cartoon outfit complete with a toy gun, caught between wanting to laugh and being too afraid to do so, does tickle his funny bone. It's a shame Nisha's helmet covers most of her face, because Gage would have paid good caps to see her without it while Fury casually chats away with her about the latest stock of slaves coming in, dressed like a fucking park mascot. William Black doesn't quite manage to force down his snort of disbelief when they drop by on the twins, and watching him struggle to appease an incensed Overboss who demands he tells her what exactly he finds so funny about her makes their little excursion almost worth it. 

"You got a fucked up sense a' humour, Boss," he mutters at her when they leave the baffled Black brother behind, and she gives him a brief grin in reply, before pulling her iriscable mask back into place. 

Unfortunately, their outing isn't all fun and games. At least not as far as Gage is concerned. Fury straight up tortures him for most of it, making sure she walks a little ahead of him so he can see her ass move in the skin-tight pants of her costume. He's not sure how he makes it through their tour of Nuka-Town, his focus divided between the depraved nymph tormenting him and keeping his raging hard-on in check. By the time they return to the Fizztop Grille, he's practically panting with anticipation. 

Which is where they are now: just inside the Hideout, with Gage pressed against Fury's back, practically growling in her ear. He was on her before the door had fallen into the lock, twisting her to face the nearest wall so he could pin her against it. She lets out a little gasp as he crowds in closer, his weight pressing the wind out of her. It makes him pull his lips back even further into a snarl, and he fists a hand into her hair as he rolls his hips against her ass, making her feel just how hard he is for her. 

"If y're in heat, Kitten, all y'had to do was  _ ask, _ " he rumbles at her. 

Not that it would have mattered, after seeing her in that outfit. Not that he even  _ wanted  _ her to. He knows she wants him, now, and it makes the games they play so much better, because he knows them for what they are. 

"But no, y'had to go an' put yerself on display for every damn dog in town t' sniff at," he rasps, nosing the side of her neck and letting his breath ghost hot over her skin. "As if you don't know damn well there's only one dick y're gonna take."

She mewls and arches back against him as he slides his free hand up her waist. He yanks the cleavage of her top open wide, pulling the thin fabric away from her breasts to bare them. He cups and kneads one of them while grinding himself against her ass, licking and biting at the soft pad of muscle between her neck and shoulder. Her panted breaths are loud in the dim space of the small hallway, and the little whining sounds of pleasure she makes are a song in his ears. 

"Maybe I oughta put a collar on this pretty li'l neck of yours," he growls, chest tight with built-up aching for her. "Make sure every fuckin' raider in this town knows who y'belong to."

Fury moans and lets her head fall back against his chest, rolling her hips to grind her ass against his erection. She usually likes to fight him before letting him have her, but it seems she's been working herself towards this point as much as she has done him. 

"Gage," she pants, voice husky and breathless. "Fuck, Gage-" 

Gage sucks at the side of her neck and slides his hand down into her pants, making her keen at his touch. He lets his fingers slip behind the waistband of her panties and dip between her thighs, finds her already wet for him. He hisses out a curse and buries a finger inside her slick, tight heat, and she whimpers and moans as he pumps it in and out of her, hips rocking in an attempt to ride it. When he draws his hand back and lifts it to her mouth, she instantly parts her lips for him. Gage groans as he watches Fury suck her own arousal from his finger. He has to pull the digit out from between her lips with a wet pop to make her let go of it. She's as worked up as he is, alright.

He can work with that. 

He takes a step back to pull her around to face him, and practically slams her back against the wall. 

"On yer knees, girl," he grunts at her, hands already on his belt to open the buckle. 

She sinks down obediently, kneeling before him in that stupid, ridiculous, hot-as-fuck costume. Her eyes are glued to the front of his pants as he unbuttons them, yanks down the zipper and pulls his dick out. He grabs hold of her hair again and tugs until she looks up at him. 

"Spread yer legs an' touch yerself," he rasps, breath rough and ragged. 

She looks hesitant for a moment, so he tightens his grip on her hair and tugs harder, making her wince in pain. 

" _ Now, _ " he growls, and to his satisfaction she does as she's told, slipping a hand into the front of those tight white leggings. 

Gage can see her fingers move behind the fabric as they quest down for her slit, and he sucks in a breath in time with her gasp of pleasure as she starts to rub herself, her hand working with jerky little motions. 

"Good girl," he pants, stroking himself while watching her. "Open yer mouth f' me, an' keep goin'."

Fury parts her lips, tongue flat and inviting, and he pulls off his eyepatch to admire the sight of her like this with both eyes. She's panting, flushed red from chest to forehead. Her breasts move enticingly with each shallow breath, and her eyes are wide and dark with want. Despite her initial reluctance, her hand moves restlessly behind the fabric of her leggings, the slick sounds of her fingers working inside her slit filling the hallway. 

"Fuck, so needy," he groans, taking hold of her head with both hands as he slides his cock into her mouth. 

He doesn't even have to tell her to start sucking. She whimpers and seals her lips around his length, eyes fluttering half shut as she suckles at him. A rough moan escapes his throat as he watches her. The gentle suction, the pleasurable slide of her lips and tongue and the warm, wet feeling of being inside her make for an intoxicating blend of sensations, and he already knows he isn't going to last long. He widens his stance, bending slightly at the knee, and starts to roll his hips, holding her head in place as he slides himself in and out of her mouth. 

"God damn," he rasps, throat so dry it feels raw. "Should see yerself like this, girl. Such a-  _ shit, _ such a good li'l slut."

She moans around him, and he can feel his orgasm start to climb up his thighs, gathering hot and heavy behind his balls. He grits his teeth and holds it back, balancing precariously on the edge. 

"You love it when I-  _ mnnh, _ fuck that pretty mouth of yours, don'tcha?" he growls at her, watching her eyes haze over as he pushes in faster, fucking her mouth in a steady rhythm. "Bet it has ya drippin' all over yer- yer fingers right now-  _ fuck." _

She chokes out another moan, and he can see her hand work faster between her legs. He grunts in pleasure as he picks up his pace as well, his control spooling rapidly away from him. 

"Good girl, don't stop," he pants. "Fuck-  _ hnnh-  _ fuck yerself on those fingers while y' suck my cock-"

The look in Fury's eyes glazes over completely as her hips start to rock into her hand. Gage tries to burn the image before him into his retinas as he pumps into her mouth. Her lipstick is smeared, most of it staining a red ring around the base of his dick, and a thin strand of saliva drips down her chin. Her free hand clutches at the fabric of his pants as she fingers herself for him. Her tits move in time with her now frantic motions, pushed together by the fabric he pulled aside to bare them. It's a breathtaking picture of depraved perfection, and he groans deep as the full force of it shoves him over the edge. 

His hips snap forward, locking up as he pushes down deep into her throat. Gage stutters out a long moan as his orgasm surges up and out of him, each throbbing pulse of his cock a rushing release of pleasure. He keeps her head firmly in place while he pumps his load down her throat, relishing in the way she finally struggles against him. He likes to make sure she takes every last drop of his cum, only pulling back when the pulsing stops. Usually it earns him a murderous look that he's particularly fond of. This time, she chokes and gasps for breath and whines, leaning forward to suck his dick back into her mouth. 

" _ Christ, _ " he rasps, letting go of her head to brace a forearm against the wall behind her. "Not had enough, huh?" 

She whimpers, fingers slicking loudly inside her slit as she tries to bob her head back and forth. She can't quite manage it, seeing as he still has her pinned against the wall. 

"Wanna cum while I fuck yer mouth?" he grits out, working past the almost painful sensitivity his orgasm has left him with. 

She keens urgently in reply, and he breathes out a curse as he buries his fingers in her hair, taking hold of it as he starts to pump into her mouth again. 

"Shit, take it, you gorgeous little  _ slut, _ " he growls, and her lids flutter as her eyes roll up in pleasure. 

It doesn't take more than a dozen thrusts for her to reach her peak. He moans in unison with her as she arches her back and rocks down on her hand, riding out her orgasm on her fingers. Her muffled cries of pleasure around his dick would be enough to make him cum if he hadn't already just a minute ago. He shivers and pulls out of her mouth, and leans his forehead against the cool stone of the wall as she slumps forward against his leg, letting her face rest against his thigh as she gasps for breath.

"Needed that, did ya?" he pants, still coming down from his own high. 

"Yeaahh," she moans, loose and breathless. 

They let their breath even out together, and Gage uses the time to reflect, not for the first time, how mind-blowingly lucky he is to be in this position. 

God, the shit she lets him do to her. Not because he makes her - he's well aware that his power stretches only as far as her word - but because she  _ wants  _ him to. And he's the only one who gets to do it. Who gets to see her like this.  He lowers a hand to stroke his fingers through Fury's silky dark hair, and she lets him, humming out a soft, pleased sound at the contact. Anyone else and she'd take that hand off with her teeth. He smiles down at her, feeling a rush of warm fondness fill his chest that seems simultaneously out of place for their current position, and completely fitting. 

"C'mon," he rumbles after a minute or two, squatting down to grab her firmly by the waist. 

Fury's breath leaves her in a startled squeak as Gage hoists her onto his shoulder and straightens up again. He slaps her lycra-covered ass, making her gasp out a moan, and carries her down the short hallway and into her quarters.  He brings her over to the table in the middle of the room and swipes its cluttered surface clear with his arm. Various items clatter and crash to the floor as he does, but he's not particularly concerned with making a mess right now. He sets his precious cargo down on the table and tugs her legs apart to slot himself between them, takes her face in his large hands. The look she gives him as their eyes meet is hazed and dark. The desire to press his lips against the cherry-red smear of hers hooks behind his navel and pulls hard. He wonders if she'd let him kiss her right now, if she's relaxed and mellow enough to sink into it. 

"You got no idea how goddamned hot you look right now," he tells her, turning his voice low and rough the way he knows she likes it. 

"How's that?" she asks, and runs her tongue over her lips in a way that has his still half-hard dick swell and stiffen further.

Fuck, he has no words for how to answer that. She looks… She looks like sin made flesh, pre-war titillation turned into debased pornography. She looks like she stepped straight out of one of his filthier fantasies. Tailor-made to drive him crazy. And still completely, uniquely herself, the open desire she wears like a costume more genuine than when she plays at resisting him. 

He cards his fingers through her hair, unable to hold back the affectionate gesture. To make up for it, he takes hold of her chin with his other hand, presses his thumb to her bottom lip. He hisses out a breath as she parts her lips to suck on his thumb, fellating it slowly while her hands wander underneath his shirt. 

"My good girl," he murmurs at her, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and letting his breath ghost over her lips. "My perfect little Kitten."

He slides his thumb out of her mouth and kisses her, cupping her jaw with his hand and tilting her head up to give himself easier access to her lips. She sighs into his mouth, going pliant and still against him. He savours the soft warmth of her, the way she touches her tongue to his almost gingerly. It only lasts for a few moments, and then she's pulling away, her back going rigid and her shoulders drawn inward. 

"Don't," she says, though her voice carries more apology than reproach. 

"Yeah, I know," he mutters, leaning his forehead against hers briefly. 

Not quite there yet. He's too eager as always, when it comes to her. 

She's giving him an uncertain sort of look when he draws back. It doesn't match the ostentatious outfit, or even her own face, usually set into some variation of scowl or smirk. 

"I'm sorry," he says, at the exact same time as she does. 

They look at each other and break into a laugh, his low chuckle rolling underneath her almost-giggle. The tension doesn't quite disappear altogether, but most of it flows out of them, and Gage feels like he can breathe again. 

"Y're literally the worst fuckin' tease I ever met," he tells her, sliding his hands down to lightly cup the sides of her neck. "An' that includes that one guy back in Baltimore who used ta draw these elaborate comics of all the shit he wanted me to do to him and made me read 'em from start to finish before he let me as much as touch him."

Fury lifts an eyebrow at him, her smile crooked slyly in that way he adores. 

"Comics, huh? Wouldn't think a silly costume holds a candle to that kind of dedication."

"The costume's way worse. Trust me," he snorts. "Least comic guy didn't make me stare at his ass fer several hours while messin' with the collective heads of several gangs at once. Y're a goddamned menace, y'know that?" 

"And you're a dirty old man, staring at my ass all day," she purrs at him, hooking her heels behind the back of his legs to pull him in closer between them. 

"What's that say 'bout you, all soaked through f' this dirty ol' man's dick?" he asks her, gliding his hands down her neck and over her front, his thumbs dragging gently over her nipples. 

Her breath hitches, and she tilts her head down to watch him play with her tits, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

"Nothing flattering, I'm sure," she murmurs, her voice edged with renewed arousal. 

"You watch that mouth, girl," he rumbles at her, and pinches one of her nipples between his fingers. 

She keens and arches her back, and when she looks up at him her eyes have that slight glassy look to them that tells him she's getting back into the game. 

"Make me."

It's more plea than taunt, and his heart thuds in his chest at the breathless sound of her voice. 

"Careful what you wish for," he warns her, and lifts her up by the hips. 

She wraps her legs around his waist on reflex, and he carries her over to their bed, casually drops her onto the mattress like she's a sack of laundry. 

"Stay," he says, making his voice firm like he does when he's training the pup. 

"What am I, Dogmeat?" she snips, but stays where she is anyway, like he knew she would. 

"Mutt listens better than you ever will," he grunts, and grins at the offended noise she makes at him. 

She watches him rummage around in the chest at the foot of his old bed, propped up onto her side. He finds what he's looking for near the bottom of the random collection of crap he keeps inside the container. He returns to the bed, climbing onto it on his knees, and holds up the slave collar he retrieved so she can see it, gauging her reaction. 

"Are you serious?" she laughs, outwardly dismissive, but with a definite hint of curiosity underneath. 

"See you runnin' yer mouth with one of these around yer neck," he muses, turning the collar around in his hands. 

It's obviously not a live collar. The clear lack of a blinking red light and rectangular box containing explosives gives it away immediately. Just a leftover of one of Colter's more creative tinkering projects, stripped of its charge. Gage had tossed it into the chest back when they'd been cleaning out the place, with the vague idea of putting it to use at some point. 

"Don't you  _ dare, _ " she says, her voice lowering into a husky register. 

He smirks at her, all smug confidence and implied threat. She sits up on the bed, tensing like a rabbit waiting to spring away. He draws out the moment, slowly slides the locking mechanism apart while keeping his eyes trained on her. 

"C'mere, Kitten," he purrs invitingly. 

"Go fuck yourself," she says, her eyes shining. 

They both know the battle is lost before it's even started. In close quarters, his reach and mass simply outstrip her own to an unfair degree. Fury fights him anyway, kicking her dangerously sharp heels at him as she scrambles in a mad attempt to get away, squirming like a devil in a fount of holy water as he wrestles her into his grip. He ends up sitting on her back with his knees pinned to either side of her waist, while she curses and spits like an angry snake. 

"Get.  _ Off, _ " she snarls, trying to claw at his legs.

"Oh, I plan on it," he growls at her, running a hand up her spine and twining his fingers into her hair. 

She can't quite fight down a moan when he tugs her head back and slips the collar around her neck. It clicks into place easily. Designed for use on resisting targets, Gage figures. He tests the fit with his fingers, making sure it isn't too tight or gives her trouble breathing. Leans in as he settles a hand on the base of her skull, his thumb rubbing the soft spot underneath her ear. 

"You good, darlin'?" he murmurs, and she nods, leans into his touch for a moment. 

He takes a breath, curls his fingers around the back of the collar, and pulls lightly. 

"Better start mindin' me, girl. Cause I fuckin'  _ own  _ you."

Fury shivers underneath him, and he lets go of the collar, rises to sit up on his knees and take his weight off her back. 

"Fuck you, asshole," she pants into the mattress.

"Keep it up, and I will," he promises. 

She tenses up when the meaning of his words sinks in, and he grins to himself, runs a hand over the swell of her ass. He hasn't gone there with her so far, mostly because he doesn't know if she'd be up for it or not. He could probe a little, maybe. Nothing too invasive. See how perceptive she is to breaking into new territory. 

"You wouldn't," she breathes. 

She sounds about five sizes smaller than before, and he feels the sense of power of having her cowed rush to his head like fine liquor. 

"You gonna be a good girl f'me?" he purrs at her, taking one of her cheeks in each hand and kneading gently. 

"Not like I have much of a choice," she answers, her resentment tinged with a hint of playfulness. 

"You don't," he assures her. 

He wonders how attached she is to the costume. Fuck it- he's seen more than one animatronic wearing it. He'll get her a new one if he has to. The fabric tears like tissue paper when he rips the back of her leggings open, and Fury lets out a shout of protest that he ignores. 

The damn minx isn't wearing anything underneath. 

"Makin' sure I got easy access, hn?" Gage hums. 

He cups a hand between her legs, slides his fingers over her exposed slit. She gasps at his touch, and moans when he slides two fingers inside her without further ado. 

"So fuckin' wet f'me, too," he groans, marvelling at how easily he pushes into her. "You ain't foolin' anyone, sweetheart. You  _ know  _ your cunt belongs to me as well as I do."

She whimpers in reply, and he makes sure to fuck her slow and deep with his fingers, keeping himself braced over her on one hand. He leans in to rumble in her ear, relishing the way she twists her hands into the sheets at the sound of his voice. 

"Next time, you're gonna have it shaved for me."

She squeezes down on his fingers, and he feels himself twitch in response, aching to have her tighten down on his dick like that. 

"That feel good, Kitten?" he asks, bending down to lick at her shoulder.

She whines and squirms underneath him, and moans when he adds another finger, stretching her wider while he keeps steadily pumping into her. 

"Didn't catch that," he pants, his breath getting heavier. 

This is about getting her to let go, yes - but he'd be lying if he didn't get off on it as well. Overpowering her. Controlling her. Having her at his mercy. 

"Y-yes," she whimpers, and he throbs for her, dense with need. 

"You like bein' my li'l pet, don'tcha," he growls, nudging her thigh up with his knee to spread her wider for him. "Don't even have t' admit it. Jus' listen to yer pussy soppin' on my fingers. You  _ love  _ this."

He kisses her back, scrapes his teeth over her skin. 

"You  _ need  _ this."

"God,  _ yes, _ " she mewls, high and strained, and he knows he's got her. 

It doesn't take long for him to make her come, drawling filth into her ear while languidly fucking her with his fingers. He holds her down as she does, murmuring encouragement and praise into her hair, and keeps working into her until her thighs tremble, her body jerking haltingly on the bed while her moans rise and fall like a startled flock of birds. 

"Good girl," he tells her, laying down on his back at her side as she gasps for air. "C'mere."

He pulls her on top of him without much effort, despite the fact that she's still limp and about as cooperative as a sack of razorgrain. 

"You jus' take a minute, pet," he rumbles, stroking a hand over her hair. 

She moans in mingled pleasure and discomfort as he drags her hips where he wants them and slides his cock into her, filling her still throbbing slit. 

"Easy, Kitten. Jus' let it happen. Gonna have ya ride me in a bit - catch yer breath, now."

She's overstimulated, straining against him and making weak attempts at getting away. Gage wraps an arm tight around her waist to hold her in place and tucks her head underneath his chin, groaning softly at the feel of her hot and slick around his cock. There's definitely something fucked in his head, he reflects, because her sounds of discomfort and protest as he works himself in and out of her make him throb darkly with pleasure. 

Good thing she's just as fucked in the head as he is. 

He sits up when Fury has recovered a little, settling her in his lap while he leans back against the bed's headboard. He spreads his hands over her thighs while he takes in the sight of her. She looks punch-drunk, eyes glazed over, with just a hint of a plea in their depths that makes him grit his teeth together. 

"Go on, Sweetheart," Gage tells her, giving one of her legs a light slap. "Put those hips to work."

"Nnh-not sure I can," Fury groans. 

Her thigh muscles quiver underneath his palms. Her inner walls are gripping him tight, fluttering around him every so often, and she flinches every time he shifts underneath her, stimulating her already oversensitive nerves. He had her sit in his lap to enjoy the view of her in her costume - but right now all he’s registering is just  _ her. _

"What's the matter, Kitten?" he drawls at her, kneading her thighs gently. "Bitten off more 'n you can chew?" 

He angles his hips up and grinds into her, and she lets out a pleading whimper that makes his dick twitch.

"Don't," she shivers. "I need a- a break. Just for a bit."

"I gave you a break," he rumbles, not bothering to hide his satisfied smile. "Let ya rest up. Thinkin' you had plenty to get on with."

He rolls his hips again, pushing up, and she clenches her legs around him as she mewls in distress. 

"N-not while you- Gage, I  _ can't.  _ It's too- too much,  _ please- _ " 

She tries to lift herself off his lap, but Gage doesn't let her. Fury sobs when his grip on her thighs turns iron, forcing her to stay seated with his cock buried inside her. Her hands cover his fingers, try to pry them off - unsuccessfully, of course. 

"I don't  _ care _ ," he tells her, drawing out his words with obvious enjoyment. "If y're not gonna give me what I want, I'll jus'  _ take _ it."

He digs his fingers underneath her thighs, lifts her up slightly, and slowly thrusts up into her, pushing in as deep as he can. Fury sobs again, tight and strained, her face twisting beautifully at the painful pleasure he forces on her. 

"Or, well.  _ You'll  _ jus' take it, I guess," he chuckles darkly. 

"Don't," she whimpers, desperate and perfect. "Please,  _ stop- _ " 

Fury squirms in his grip, and Gage watches her with parted lips, fucking up into her while she whines and protests. 

"Gonna cry f'me, Sweetheart?" he murmurs, in a rough mockery of cooing at her. "You know how much I love it when y' cry while I fuck ya. Don't hold back, now. Let it all out."

She bites her lip and forces down a moan, the last vestiges of her resistance crumbling. Gage braces his feet on the bed and fucks her harder, faster, making her jolt and jerk in his lap with each forceful thrust. Something in her expression twists up and breaks, and he groans as she heaves out a wail, her tears spilling forth as her sobs shudder through her. 

" _ Fuck _ yeah," he breathes, tugging her closer while setting a punishing rhythm. "That's my-  _ nnh _ . That's my girl-  _ shit. _ "

He slides a hand over her front, cups a breast briefly before closing his hand over her throat, just above the collar. Fury dips her head back a little, giving him access, giving  _ in.  _ Baring her throat and letting him feel her frantic sobs, letting him lick and kiss her tears from her cheeks. He feels like he's holding her entire being in his hand, and she trusts him to keep it safe. She trusts him so much it hurts, and Gage feels himself break with her, his throat winched so tight he's barely able to speak through it. 

"Mine," he chokes out, voice cracking. "You're mine, an' I-  _ fuck.  _ I got you, Sweetheart. Cum with me. Wanna feel ya cum on my cock while-  _ ah, god-  _ while I fill ya- Shit, you feel so fuckin'  _ good _ , Boss- C'mon, lemme-  _ fuck, _ lemme feel it-" 

He works his thumb between her legs, mashing it between her pelvis and his own smacking up into it as he rubs firm circles into her clit. She bucks and shrieks, shrill cries climbing higher with each pump of his hips and stroke of his thumb, drowning out his groaned encouragement. Fury trembles and shudders and falls apart with a huge, desperate sob. Gage seals his mouth over hers as he falls with her, drinking in her wrecked cries and choked moans, his own groan rattling in his chest while he empties himself inside her. Kisses her so his heart doesn't spill from his lips, pumping out his secrets with every thrumming beat, that he loves her, loves her, loves her so achingly much that he doesn't know what to do with himself. 

He gently pulls out of her when she starts to shake and jerk. Gathers her in close and strokes her hair, muttering soothing nothings while she gasps and sobs against his lips. He holds her while her breaths find their rhythm, the staccato hammering of her heart pressed close to his chest. Clicks the collar's lock open and carefully slides it from her neck, and brushes his fingers over the faint marks it left on her skin. 

Tells her she did good, that he's proud of her, that she's beautiful and amazing and perfect, his little Kitten, so good for him, just for him. 

"Just for you," she breathes in agreement, and his heart squeezes so tight behind his ribs that for a moment he worries it has stopped altogether. 

She fits in his arms like the space between them was always made for her. He kisses her again, slow and gentle, and the slight curve of Fury's lips as she kisses him back warms him like sunlight soaking into his skin. Her fingertips settle tentatively against his jaw, making him shiver at her touch. He doesn't quite manage to silence the soft sound of longing welling from the back of his throat. 

Fury stills for a moment, and Gage holds his breath, dreading and hoping and  _ wanting  _ more than he's ever wanted before. Then her palm curls against his cheek and her thumb strokes tentatively against the corner of his lips, and he breaks all over again. His breath stutters in his lungs as she touches him. Just one hand, fingers light on his face, thumb drawing cautiously over the stubble on his skin. Her touch aches and soothes at the same time, and he leans into it to let it burn him to the bone, like she burns herself deeper into him with each passing day. 

The third and most important issue is also the most difficult to face. 

Gage is terrified of losing her. Of having the one thing that fills the hole inside him he never realised was there ripped away from him. And he knows that eventually, one way or another, he will. 

Maybe he will be the one to fuck things up beyond repair. Maybe she will decide their affair is getting too complicated. Or maybe she'll come to feel the same way he does, they'll find a way to make it work, become a love story for the ages. And one of them will get themselves killed, sooner or later, leaving the other behind as a shell of their former self. In this world, it's not a matter of if, but when.  _ How  _ is just a question of which path to the inevitable they end up taking. 

Is having this worth it, if he's going to lose her anyway? 

Fury curls herself more snugly against him, her face pressed to the hollow between his neck and shoulder. The hand that cupped the side of his face slips down to rest on his chest, and Gage folds his own over it, lacing his fingers between her smaller ones. They'll have to get up soon - Dogmeat has been left in his crate for long enough already as it is. There's the pup to care for, and food to be made, and an excursion out into the Commonwealth to be discussed. All good things must come to an end, eventually. He knows that. Has always known it. The wasteland is a harsh teacher that doesn't skimp on its lessons. At some point, he's going to have to let Fury go. 

He's afraid he's starting to forget how. 


End file.
